On Dimensional Transcendence and the Healing Properties of Chai Tea
by HisImpossibleGirl
Summary: Set after Journey's End in a universe where Rose never found the Doctor. The TARDIS is injured after being deposited into the Dalek Crucible, and the Doctor is stuck with a strange little boy while she heals. First in the "Things Unseen" series
1. Chapter 1

The Doctor closes the bedroom door softly and makes his way back to the console room. He'd been animatedly retelling the story of his first encounter with a Raxacoricofallapatorian when he realized that his had been the only voice in the room for quite some time. He looked up and saw that Dex had fallen asleep with his head on the kitchen table, hand curled loosely around a cup of chai tea. The Doctor hesitates. He doesn't want to wake Dex, and carrying a sleeping child to bed seems, well, a bit domestic. The Doctor's gaze softens as Dex's hand twitches. He suddenly looks very small. He's had a hard day, thinks the Doctor, I can hardly leave him here. Decision made, he gently lifts Dex into his arms and carries him to a spare bedroom near the galley. I'm not getting attached, he reminds himself as he crawls beneath the console to check on the repair status of the TARDIS. He knows he can't keep Dex; he doesn't want to, not really. Although, it had been nice to have someone help fill the silence- The Doctor abruptly cuts off the thought. He will have no more companions. The arrangement with Dex is temporary; as soon as the TARDIS is repaired, he will return him to where he belongs. He can't bear to ruin any more lives, and he will not allow his hearts to be broken again. The events of the past 24 hours replay in his mind.

The TARDIS was drifting through the vortex; he and Donna had just left Shan Shen. Donna had gone to the galley for tea. The Doctor remained in the console room, contemplating their next destination. That was when he'd received the phone call.

Stolen planets. Daleks. Sarah-Jane, Jack, Martha. Warp stars and nuclear warheads and Davros. Z-Neutrino energy and that God-damned biological metacrisis. He felt the threatening burn of unshed tears. Why couldn't he have just regenerated normally? Worse still, why had he stood stupidly in the street talking to Donna? He should know better than anyone how unwise it is to be oblivious to one's surroundings during a Dalek invasion. Couldn't he have waited for Jack in the TARDIS?

He'd abandoned the genocidal human Doctor with Jack at Torchwood. Nobody was particularly satisfied with this arrangement - he is haunted by the gaze of accusing brown eyes piercing him from the view screen as he dematerialized - but the Doctor could not be bothered to find a more fitting solution. There had been Donna to think of. He replayed their last few seconds together; the empty glance, the "yeah, see ya," that was almost as painful as Wilf's unshaken admiration and benevolent sympathy.

The TARDIS groaned. He heard the hiss of compressed gas seconds before the cloister bell began to toll. I'm so sorry, girl, he thought as he shot out of the jump seat to run a diagnostic. The Doctor felt another stab of guilt. His old girl, who has always taken care of him, had nearly been destroyed in the heart of the Dalek Crucible, and he'd just forgotten her, sitting maudlin with his head in his hands. Her lights dimmed. She was focusing all her power on an emergency landing, shuddering with the effort. The Doctor saw that the time rotor had been cracked and was spewing noxious fumes. He engaged his respiratory bypass as the TARDIS landed with loud thud, throwing him to the floor. The lights flickered out. Gingerly, he picked himself up and staggered to the door, off-balanced from the fall. The TARDIS would repair the crack on her own and filter the fumes from the console room. The Doctor knew from the quick diagnostic he'd run that there was not much for him to do. She would need to spend some time in the vortex to heal, and he could help with repairs once they were there.

The door shuts behind him before he registers his environment. Twisted grey crags jutting out over rippling purple water, a cloudless orange sunset, large, ray-like creatures soaring on the delicate, rain-scented breeze. It is isolated, serene, desolately beautiful. It is also the last place in the universe he wants to be.

He turns back to the TARDIS, hands shaking as he reaches for the key. He will take his chances with the fumes. He is fighting to block the memories that are flooding him, emotions that have long been locked away are straining to surface. The key will not turn. He focuses on his task, the cold bite of the key as it digs into the pads of his fingers, the slight rattling of the lock (just enough to tease him into believing he can break it), the vice grip of his left hand over his right as he devotes all his strength to turning the key. He releases his grip only when he realizes that the key has broken his skin. He is weakening. The demons claw against his paper-thin defenses and he pounds frantically on the TARDIS, shoving all of his anguish and fear at her in a desperate plea for entry. She is silent.

In the end, it is the lonely cry of a ray that shatters him. It is shrill, sharp, and utterly forlorn, ringing across the barren cliffs and piercing his soul. He slides to his knees, resting his head on the wooden door of the TARDIS, and succumbs to the past.

He is unsure how long he remains curled against the TARDIS, shuddering under the weight of his burdens. He relives them all: Donna, Martha, Koschei, Jack; mistake after mistake, loss after loss. The memories keep coming and he savours the pain they leave in their wake, his penance to the universe. He doesn't understand why the TARDIS chose to land here, the place of his greatest joy and the catalyst of his gravest loss. It is unimaginably cruel. Here is where he once allowed himself to believe in forever.

Suddenly, he is furious. He is furious at the TARDIS for dumping him here, furious at the universe, furious at Torchwood and Daleks and John Lumic, furious at himself for choosing the wrong lever. He stands, shoving his fists deeply into his transdimensional pockets. He keeps his back to the lonely bay where she promised him forever and refuses to look at the TARDIS, focusing instead on a rocky grey slope beyond her.

He isn't sure how far he walks; his time sense is buried beneath the swirling chaos of his emotions. Eventually, the white-hot fury fades to a dull ache, and he allows himself to acknowledge the beauty around him. The slope he is climbing is not steep, but he's come far, judging by his distance from ground level. There is no vegetation, only sharp grey stones that threaten to pierce the soles of his trainers. It appears that he is actually on an island in a large ocean. The water is calm; this is a rare planet with no moons to cause a tide, there is only the slight breeze gently rippling the water. The Doctor leans into the cool wind. It carries the earthy scent of rain (petrichor, the Doctor thinks, reveling in the brilliance of the word), although there are no clouds in the sky. With a pang, he realizes that she will never see this, and he misses her terribly. His hand aches to reach for hers, and he suddenly realizes that he is no longer certain of the exact shade of her eyes. The thought guts him. He cannot even keep her locked safely away in his memory. He has lost her, is losing her, will lose her. He turns from the sea and continues up the slope. He thinks he can see the summit in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

The cold breeze whips his hair into his eyes. It tickles. Dex groans and shifts, realizing suddenly that he is laying on sharp black rock. He sits slowly, head pounding, and swallows hard in an attempt to belay the sickening tingle in his jaw. He wraps his arms around his legs and ducks his head between his knees. The side effects increased with every jump; Dex is pretty sure he'd been knocked out for this one. He focuses on breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest, in and out. Slowly, the spots swimming in his vision fade and the pounding in his head is reduced to a lingering tenderness. Eighteen minutes have passed. Dex lifts his head and takes in his surroundings. He is sitting near the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a calm, purple sea. The sky is a brilliant orange, and are those flying sting-rays? Not on Earth, then, he thinks wryly. _How many more jumps until I make it home,_ he wonders. _Is it even possible for me to go home?_ He isn't sure how much more his body can handle. He knows he needs to sleep, but he is hesitant to let down his guard on this open cliff on an unknown planet.

Dex realizes that breaking into Mum's office was a bad idea. Pressing the big yellow button that sat on her desk was an accident, honest. Well, mostly an accident. It wasn't like he'd asked to go hurtling through time and space. He just wanted to know where his mother was.

It all started a few months ago, when Mum had been promoted at work. She sat with Dex and explained that she would have to do lots of traveling for her new job and that he would be staying with Gran and Tony while she was gone. Dex hadn't minded at first. Gran had a big house with lots of rooms to explore, and he and Tony were always getting into trouble. It was loads of fun. Then Mum started coming home late at night. She had shadows under her eyes, and she didn't take Dex to the park on Saturdays or cook banana pancakes for breakfast anymore. They stopped reading astrophysics journals in the evenings, and Dex hadn't heard her singing in the shower for weeks. She must be really focused on a top secret mission, he'd thought to himself. Dex was starting to worry; Mum had never been this distant before. He hoped that whatever she was working on wasn't too dangerous. Dex had long known that Mum wasn't really head of the Vitex public relations department like she claimed. He suspected that his mum was really a high level MI5 agent. Sometimes, when he was bored, Dex would imagine his Mum chasing bad guys through the streets of London, blond hair flying in the wind. She walked past explosions without blinking, dodging bullets and smiling in the face of terrorists. She fought her way past thugs, Bruce Lee style, and walked into the sunset, never accepting thanks. He'd once heard Mickey call her, "Defender of the Earth." Mum had gone very quiet and Mikey never said it again, but Dex knew the truth. She was just keeping her cover. Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. It had a satisfying ring to it.

Everything changed when Mum left the stove on and nearly burned down the flat with Dex inside. Dex wasn't scared; naturally, he'd smelled the smoke and put out the fire before it could spread. He honestly didn't understand what everyone kept nattering on about; the kitchen was a bit singed, but he'd managed to save most of the wallpaper. Crisis averted. Gran had picked him up and kissed his cheeks, ignoring his protest of, "I'm fine, put me down!" Mum watched with empty eyes. She was silent all the way to Gran's. That night, when she came to his room and kissed his forehead, Dex pretended to be asleep. She'd sniffed, whispered, "I love you," in a broken voice, and shut his door silently. Dex sat up. Had Mum been crying? He'd never seen his Mum cry, and the thought disturbed him. Something was very, very wrong.

He slid out of bed. He could hear the low murmur of voices in the hallway. He crept slowly toward his bedroom door and pressed his ear against it.

"What will you tell him?" Gran asks.

There is a long silence. He has to strain to hear Mum say, "He doesn't need to know."

"But what if you get stuck there, in that parallel world?" Gran hisses.

Mum doesn't reply. There is only the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.

Dex lays back down. He didn't understand what he'd heard, but he knew instinctually that chasing after Mum and demanding answers would drive her away. Besides, he'd been eavesdropping. He would get up early and make her breakfast, he decided. She would give him one of her rare megawatt smiles, tongue and all, and then they would talk about it while he cleaned the dishes. He would gently coax the answers out of her. After all, he was nearly grown now, at seven and three quarters, and it was time he knew the truth.

Dex woke up at 6:00 exactly. He knew that Mum left the house at 5:45 every morning for a run. She usually returned around 6:56. Perfect. The pancakes wouldn't even have time to cool. He switched on the radio, humming along with Ian Dury as he deftly climbed the kitchen counter to hunt for pancake mix.

At 6:54, Dex slid the last pancake off the griddle and onto a plate. At 7:02, the pancakes were beginning to cool. By 7:16, Mum was officially late. At 7:27, Dex began to worry. By 7:30, Mum's mobile had a text, two missed calls and a voicemail. Dex was considering waking Gran when she finally shuffled into the kitchen wearing her pink dressing gown at 7:43.

"Dex-" she began.

"Where's Mum?" he interrupted cooly.

Gran yawned and sat beside him. "Oh, Dex! Your pancakes look wonderful! What's the occasion?"

Dex stares at her. He loves his gran, but sometimes he wonders if she is deliberately thick. He doesn't have the patience for it today. "Gran," he says, speaking slowly and clearly. "Where is my mother?"

Gran must have heard the underlying desperation in his tone. Her eyes soften as she says, "She's had to go away again, didn't she tell you?"

Dex rolls his eyes. "Yes, obviously," he snaps, "but where has she gone?"

Jackie nearly balks at the intensity of her grandson's gaze. It scares her. She could swear for a moment that his eyes glittered blue, but that was probably a trick of the early morning light filtering through the windows. She swallows, takes a moment to compose herself, and gives Dex a patient smile. "Sweetheart, she's on a business trip for Vitex. You know she's got a very important job."

Something snaps in Dex. He pounds the table with his fist. The carefully stacked pancakes go flying, accompanied by a satisfying cacophony of silverware. He leans forward, giving Gran his very best glare, and speaks softly, enunciating his words with hard edges. "They are not business trips. I know they are not. There is something wrong. Something is wrong with Mum. I know that you know what is going on and I need you to tell me."

Gran blinks, eyes swimming, and for a moment Dex thinks he may have gone too far. Then he remembers the brush of Mum's lips against his forehead, the broken, "I love you," and he knows that he would tear the world apart to save his mother. He strengthens his resolve and keeps his eyes locked on Gran's.

There he is, thinks Jackie, staring into her grandson's green eyes as they glitter coldly at her. The Oncoming Storm. Her heart breaks for Dex. She wishes desperately, certainly not for the first time, that she could do something to fix this broken mess. She settles for pulling Dex into a hug. He stiffens, and she expects him to pull away.

Gran's arms wrap around him. He tries to resist, but the fire drains slowly from his body, leaving a cold knot of fear deep in his chest. He crawls into her lap and allows himself to be comforted.

Neither of them move for a long time.

Dex is shaken from his reverie. He senses something, a strange tingling at the back of his mind. Something is coming. He stiffens. There is nowhere to run. He doesn't feel threatened, not exactly. He fingers the big yellow button in the pocket of his hoodie. His body isn't ready to handle another jump, he knows, but he'd rather not risk encountering another hostile alien species. He closes his eyes and presses the button. Nothing. He presses it again, harder this time. Nothing. It's been 38 minutes. The device is always recharged after half an hour. Dex pushes back the panic that threatens to overwhelm him. His device has run out of energy or is broken. His last jump was traumatic- he cuts off the memory. Focus. He has nothing but the clothes on his back and a broken yellow button. He breathes deeply, honing in on the new presence he feels. It doesn't feel malicious; in fact, he isn't even sure if it's aware of him. Probably not, he thinks, remembering what the kind woman with the dark hair had done for him on the strange planet with the barking aliens. He leans his back on a large rock, wondering how he's going to get out of this mess.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor stops abruptly as he reaches the summit of the slope he'd been climbing. "What?" he chokes, not quite trusting his eyes. A little boy is perched on a large grey rock overlooking the steep cliff, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. The Doctor shakes his head and blinks.

"You're wondering if I'm real," says the little boy, without turning around.

"What?" squeaks the Doctor. He's lost the ability to say anything else. That was exactly what he'd been wondering. This shouldn't be happening. He moves unconsciously toward the boy.

"You can sit down," says the boy, who still hasn't moved. "I don't bite."

The Doctor sits obediently. He decides to play along because really, what else can he do?

He is suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful shift in his personal timeline. He's used to the near imperceptible shimmers that flutter across his consciousness as his future changes; after all, he is a Time Lord. Occasionally, one will be significant enough for him to take notice, but he's never felt anything like this. This shift rips through his mind in tangible waves. His body shudders and he closes his eyes tightly. The sensation fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving the Doctor baffled. This wasn't a fixed point, nor did it didn't have the unshakeable feeling of inevitability like his relationship with Donna had. Quite the opposite, really. His future had just veered off radically from the direction it had been likely to go. Something big is happening. He wonders if it has anything to do with this boy. Probably not, he thinks. More likely that a Dalek had initiated an emergency temporal shift before it had been destroyed and had now begun rebuilding the empire. Again.

He gives the boy an appraising once-over. He is small and wiry; he couldn't be more than eight years old. Dark, nearly black hair hangs in his eyes. It's a bit shaggy and just long enough to cover his ears. He is wearing jeans and a dark grey hoodie with scuffed black trainers. As he turns to face the Doctor for the first time, the Doctor notices his large green eyes and the smattering of freckles across his nose. "Call me Dex," the boy says casually.

"Dex?" the Doctor repeats, wondering what sort of name that is. Hopefully not short for Dexter, he thinks.

Dex raises one eyebrow and waves his fingers sarcastically. "Hello."

Cheeky little thing, muses the Doctor. He leans forward, arms on legs. He is properly intrigued now. He needs to know what this little boy is doing on an uncolonized planet.

Dex interrupts his thought before he can find out. "What are they?" he asks, indicating the flying sting ray creatures.

"They don't have a name," says the Doctor. "Nobody ever explores this planet."

"So, what are you doing here?" asks Dex.

It is a fair question, but the Doctor is unsure how to answer. He settles for deflection. "I could ask you the same thing," he replies, raising an eyebrow pointedly at Dex.

Dex shakes his hair out of his eyes and looks away. "Was sort of hoping you could tell me," he says, not quite succeeding in his attempt at nonchalance.

The Doctor frowns. "What do you mean?"

Dex sighs, carefully considering his answer. He has a gut feeling that lying to this strange man in the pinstriped suit is not wise, but he can't quite bring himself to tell the whole story. Not yet. He settles for omission and attempts to look as small and vulnerable as he can. "I was just walking outside, on the street," he says slowly. "I felt this weird burning, almost like when my foot goes to sleep, but through my whole body. Then I felt like I was being pulled apart. I woke up here." All true, though he neglects to mention the yellow button that is currently resting in the pocket of his hoodie or the situation that led him to it.

The Doctor knows that there is more to Dex's story than, 'I woke up here.' He pulls out his sonic screwdriver and waves it in front of Dex, who doesn't even blink. Normal readings. The Doctor frowns. "Where were you when this happened?" he asks.

Dex reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. He doesn't know where he was. The street was dark, deserted and unremarkable; it could have been any street in the whole United Kingdom. Dex suddenly remembers his mum saying something about strange things always happening in Cardiff. Mum is never wrong; besides, it hardly matters what city, anyhow. "Cardiff," he finally replies.

The Doctor purses his lips. He wonders if Dex's strange appearance was the work of the rift. There was no way of finding out until the TARDIS was repaired. He runs a hand through his hair. He dreads the idea of returning to Cardiff so soon, especially considering the time period Dex seems to be from. He grits his teeth. The universe really has it in for him today.

"Do you have a spaceship?" Dex asks suddenly, luminous green eyes locking on to the Doctor's.

"I do," says the Doctor, impressed at the little boy's reasoning, "but it's been damaged. It may be a few weeks before I can take you home."

Dex shrugs. "Okay."

The Doctor continues, "but don't worry about that. I'll have you back before your mum can miss you." Not that you seem to be concerned about it, he thinks to himself.

Dex's face pales, and the Doctor wonders what he said wrong. He is about to ask when Dex gives a little shake of his head, flopping his bangs back into his eyes. "You have a ship that travels through time and space?" he asks in an awed voice, eyes wide and shining.

The Doctor grins. This was one of his favorite bits. "Yes, I do!" he says jauntily. His brow furrows and the grin fades abruptly when he realizes the implications of Dex's question. "Hold on, how did you know?"

Dex rolls his eyes. "You made it a bit obvious, what with the, 'I can get you back before anyone misses you even after you've been gone for weeks' statement. Also, the way you talk about this planet, like you know it's whole history and future. It's the only explanation that makes sense, really."

The Doctor realizes he is gaping at Dex when the boy smiles and says lightly,"Does your species eat flies?"

The Doctor abruptly closes his mouth and swallows hard in an attempt to hold back the sputtering reply that is making it's way past his lips. He is suddenly and painfully reminded of the playful banter that he and Rose shared. In this moment, he realizes several things. First, Dex was much more intelligent and observant than the average human child. The Doctor was going to have to be very careful about what he said while Dex was on the TARDIS. He had a sinking feeling that this cheeky little boy would put him in his place more often than not. He'd just have to brush up on his come-backs. It had been a long time.

A cool breath of wind ruffles the Doctor's hair, and Dex shivers beside him. The Doctor is suddenly reminded of the fragility of the human body. "Dex, how long have you been here?" he asks, concerned that the thought didn't occur to him sooner.

"54 minutes," Dex replies automatically, trying to appear unaffected by the wind.

"Come on," says the Doctor standing as he shrugs out of his suit jacket. "Let's get you to the TARDIS."

"You know," says Dex flippantly as he slides off the rock, "you never told me your name."

"Oh, sorry!" says the Doctor. In all fairness, it had been a really long day. "I'm the Doctor." He smiles at Dex. "Nice to meet you."

Dex raises an eyebrow and gives the Doctor a tiny smile. The Doctor wraps his jacket around Dex's shoulders and together, they make their way down the mountain.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh," he breathes, turning in slow circle and letting his hand rest reverently on a coral strut. "Oh, you're beautiful!"

The Doctor smiles, not sure whether to be amused or perplexed by this little boy's unexpected reaction to the TARDIS. "Are you talking to my ship?"

"She's singing," Dex sighs, green eyes alit with wonder.

She is singing. The Doctor feels his eyes widen in shock. This is wrong. The TARDIS rarely sang anymore, preferring to manifest herself as warm tingle in the back of the Doctor's mind. She occasionally communicated by pushing a concept to the front of his consciousness accompanied by swirls of emotion and snatches of color, or more often by singeing his fingers or flickering her lights. He could only hear her song because they were bonded, and he'd grown accustomed to her recent silence. "You can hear her?" he asks, flabbergasted.

"'Course I can hear her," Dex replies, eagerly making his way up the grating.

"Dex," says the Doctor in an effort to distract him before he can touch the console, "have you noticed anything.." He pauses, unsure how to phrase his question. "Different? About this room?"

Dex turns, looking at him for the first time since they entered the TARDIS. "You mean that she's dimensionally transcendental," he says evenly, as if all seven year old boys had an innate understanding of the nuances of advanced Gallifreyan physics. The Doctor gapes. Dex continues, "Well, she'd have to be. You can't hide all the technology required to travel through time and space in a tiny blue box."

The Doctor sinks into the jump seat, still openly gaping at the enigmatic little boy who was now staring at the console with interest. It is too much. There is too much about this little boy that made no sense at all. The Doctor struggles with his thoughts, finally settling on the glaringly obvious. "How," he sputters, "how can you possibly know about dimensional transcendence? That shouldn't even be a concept you. Humans shouldn't even know what to call it! You should be running out the doors and circling around outside, you should be blinking and wondering what hallucinogenic I slipped into your tea, you should be..." He trails off when he notices that Dex is watching him, eyebrows raised in an amused smirk. "You were supposed to say, 'it's bigger on the inside!'" he finishes lamely.

Dex's lips twitch into a tiny smile. He leans his back against the console, facing the jump seat. "I've always thought it was possible," he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. " If you take a straight line and square it, you get a square. If you cube the line, you get a cube. You can't draw the rest on paper, but if you continue raising it to a higher power, you wind up with more and more space fitting inside what was once a small line. If the outside of an object stays in the third dimension, the cube, and the inside is in a higher dimension, you get dimensional transcendence. The concept is easy enough." He pauses, brow furrowed. "What I don't understand is how to get matter to comply with the theory. " He looks at the ceiling, tongue pressing into the roof of his mouth, apparently in deep thought.

The Doctor continues to gape at Dex. He is beginning to wonder if this child is even human. His eerily accurate perception, his reaction to the TARDIS -the TARDIS's reaction to him- his intelligence. It was all decidedly nonhuman. It occurs to him that this brilliant little boy who is currently right at home leaning against his console could be a trap. The perfect trap. For some reason, the Doctor abhors this thought. He realizes, with a shock, that he desperately wants this little boy to be real. He tentatively reaches out with his mind, careful to maintain his own barriers, and searches for Dex's consciousness. Dex's mind is blank. There are no shields, no evidence of a shimmer or perception filter. He is just a normal human boy with no telepathic ability. The Doctor sighs with relief and relaxes enough to be impressed.

"The bit with the matter is complicated," he says, smiling at Dex. "But your theory is dead-on."

Dex's eyes meet the Doctor's. "Yeah," he says, pulling at his ear. He looks suddenly shy. "Bit of a genius, me."

The Doctor holds back a snort. Genius was a bit modest. He wondered briefly whether Dex would consent to a few tests while they were stuck in the vortex. "Clever, the way you explained it by using the example with the line. Brilliant, really!"

Dex's face lights up as he grins for the first time. His eyes are sparkling, and he suddenly looks just like a seven year old boy should. The Doctor immediately nixes the idea of tests. He is startled to find that this grinning little face sparks something long-dead in his hearts. Before he can properly identify -and contain- the emotion, Dex answers.

"That was mum's idea. She said most people need a visual representation to fully understand. That's what she came up with." He is still smiling. For just an instant, his tongue snakes around the edge of his teeth. The Doctor suddenly sees a different -oh, so similar- face, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, a wide grin with a pink tongue poking teasingly between her teeth. He viciously clamps down the memories that threaten to overwhelm him and somehow finds his voice. "She sounds clever, your mum."

"Oh, yes!" he replies, eyes shining with admiration. It's clear that Dex thinks his mother hung the moon. "She's got a doctorate in theoretical physics. Wrote her thesis on dimensional transcendence. She always said it'd be nice to have pockets that were bigger on the inside."

The Doctor smiles at the irony. "Well," he drawls, winking conspiratorially at Dex. "As soon as the TARDIS is repaired, I'd like to meet her! Bet we could show her a thing or two."

Dex's face falls. Suddenly, the grinning little boy is gone, replaced by an emotionless mask. "You can't," he says quietly, staring intently at the toe of his dirty trainer as it traces the pattern of the grating. Dex blinks and swallows. "Shes dead." For just an instant, the mask falters and the Doctor catches a glimpse of overwhelming grief. Dex gives one shuddering breath and quickly schools his face back into an expression of collected indifference that the Doctor is all too familiar with. This, more even than the grief, hits the Doctor like a punch in the gut. He suddenly notices the shadows under Dex's eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the smudges of dirt on his face, the tear in the sleeve of his hoodie. He has a fierce need to comfort, to protect this little boy, but hasn't a clue how to begin.

"Dex," he says softly, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. Dex looks up at him, all ancient green eyes that are suspiciously wet, full of pain and deep regret and too many other things that a seven year old should never experience. The Doctor feels something twist painfully in his chest. "How about a cup of tea?" he asks, feeling a bit stupid for assuming that tea was the answer. How very Jackie of him.

Dex blinks at the Doctor and then gives a tiny, slow smile. "Do you have chai?" he asks shyly.

"Of course I do!" He knows he does. Chai tea is a favorite of this regeneration, and he makes sure to keep the TARDIS stocked.

"Come on," he says, letting his hand slide off of Dex's shoulder. "Galley's this way!" He almost doesn't notice Dex slip a hand in his.


	5. Chapter 5

Dex lands hard on his hands and knees in the middle of a deserted street. He groans, shudders, curling pitifully into a ball on the rough pavement. His chest is heaving and he fights for each breath. Why does it hurt so much, he wonders, suddenly missing home fiercely. He runs his fingers in slow circles over his temples and sits up carefully.

The street is dark and empty. Cars are scattered erratically in the road; one even with the lights on and it's doors open. He notes vaguely that he is somewhere in the UK, but this isn't home, he realizes instinctually. Parallel world, he thinks, remembering. A cold bolt of electric fear jolts through him, and he is suddenly eager for his device to recharge. Something is wrong. The hairs on his neck stand up; he absently reaches to smooth them down. He slinks slowly around a street lamp, ducking behind cars and sneaking through shadows in an effort to remain unseen.

He rounds a dark corner and nearly crashes straight into the robot. Had he been less afraid, he might have laughed at the absurdity of it - a haphazard pile of random kitchen appliances. It swivels his head and peers at Dex through its eyestalk.

"Halt," it squawks. "You will come with me."

Terrified though he may be, Dex has no intention of following a talking pepper pot anywhere. He raises an eyebrow and swallows his fear. "Why would I do that?" he asks cooly.

The pepper pot seems to pause, wagging its eyestalk up and down as it studies Dex. "You will obey," it grates. "Daleks are the masters of Earth."

"Not my Earth," Dex mutters, annoyed. He is fed up with the universe. He is tired and hungry, and he just wants to go home. He wonders fleetingly if this is all a ridiculous dream.

"Insubordinate humans will be exterminated!" the pepper pot screeches. Oh, honestly, thinks Dex. He is tired of melodrama. He briefly considers the pepper pot (Dalek, he thinks, rolling the foreign word about in his brain). It is large and clumsy. He thinks he can outrun it easily; he is a good runner. Casually, Dex reaches to scratch the back of his neck, subtly shifting his eyes in search of an escape route. There is a narrow alleyway to his right. Without thinking, Dex bolts.

Several things happen at once. The alley ends abruptly with a wall. Somewhere behind him, the pepper pot is screeching, "Exterminate! Exterminate!" He turns, back pressed to the brick. Energy crackles in front of him, the slight hum reverberates through his body and raises the hair on his arms. Without further warning, a blonde woman in a blue jacket steps out of thin air. She cocks the gargantuan guns she is carrying and it charges to life with a high pitched whine.

Wait. He knows that jacket. "Mum?" The word forces its way out of his throat.

She turns, faces him, eyes full of disbelief and fear. He should not be here. "Dex?" she questions softly, brow furrowed in confusion. She opens her mouth and moves abruptly forward, as if to embrace him. In his relief at finding her, he forgets the Dalek.

"Exterminate!"

Mum's face hardens, and she whirls around, bracing her gun into her shoulder and falling to her knees in an effort to dodge the green laser aimed squarely at her chest.

She is too late.

He does not hear her gun fire, does not notice the sudden explosion or the smoldering bits of Dalek debris that remain. Later he will realize that she somehow managed to shoot the Dalek, her last act a desperate effort to protect him.

She is glowing, skin a ghostly green, skeleton illuminated by the heat of the laser as it bores into her left shoulder. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, head rolled back sharply. The glow fades and she crashes to the pavement with a thud. Dex is frozen. The sharp odor of charred bone wafts through the air, seeping into his nostrils and coating his throat thickly. He retches and heaves the contents of his stomach onto the pavement.

Dex straightens and approaches her slowly, movements jerky and abrupt, unsteady on his feet. He isn't sure if the sickening smell is fading or if he has grown used to it. He crouches beside her. She is not breathing. Her face is is relaxed, not contorted by pain and rage as he expected. She could be sleeping.

Dex buries his face into the crook of her shoulder. She is warm and soft and Mum, and he is overwhelmed by a thousand memories of pressing his face against this very spot. As a tiny child, she'd curled him to his chest and sung him to sleep. Later, when his chubby legs had gotten ahead of him and he'd fallen, she'd comforted him with a hand on his back. The day that Tony had taunted him, saying that his father hadn't loved him enough to stay, he'd cried into her shoulder as she held him close. He relives pinched fingers and bedtime stories, late nights spent watching her study, burned biscuits and take out chips and chai tea. He remembers her laugh, the way her voice went high pitched and her eyes sparkled. He sees her kicking off her pumps as she comes home from work, shuffling to her room and returning in jeans and a hoodie. He relives romps in the park and solving difficult equations, books and papers strewn erratically around the dinner table. He remembers tickle wars and good night kisses and crushing bear hugs. He recalls the last brush of her lips against his forehead, the broken, "I love you," that she'd whispered as she left. He is suddenly crushed by guilt. He hadn't said it back.

He breaks, body heaving and shuddering with dry sobs. He can feel the pressure of tears building inside him, but he cannot release them. He curls into a ball, pressing closer to her. It does not relieve the vice that has tightened around his heart.

It is a very long time before he moves. He's noticed that her hands and arms are growing cold and stiff, though the core of her is still warm. He hears the screech of Daleks in the distance and knows he cannot wait any longer. He pulls the yellow button out of his pocket and wraps the chord around his and Mum's wrists, gripping her hand tightly. He will not go without her.

The familiar tingling begins in his fingers as he presses the button. He wishes desperately to be sent home. A rhythmic, grating wheeze fades in and out of his hearing, vaguely in the direction of the street which he materialized on. Suddenly, he is being pulled apart, ligaments and muscles stretched too thin. His hand is ripped away from his mother's, and he belatedly realizes that his device is meant to carry only one. He gives an agonized scream, and all fades to black.

Dex sits up abruptly, drenched in sweat, legs tangled in blankets that are too hot. He leaps out of the unfamiliar bed. He doesn't know where he his. He is out the door before he registers the comforting glow in the back of his mind. TARDIS, he remembers, events of the past day settling in his memory. He slumps against the wall and slides to the floor. She sings to him, a beautiful golden song of comfort and warmth. He leans his head back, chest heaving, and basks in the relief that the song brings. Slowly, his shaking subsides, but no amount of singing, regardless of how beautiful, can erase the memory, and the burned smell clings to him, will probably never completely wash out of his subconscious. He is suddenly desperate for a shower.

He returns to the bedroom to find the ensuite door open and a cozy pair of pajamas laid out on the bed. He is disappointed to find that the scalding water pounding on his back offers only small comfort.

The Doctor has been under the console for 94 minutes when he feels the TARDIS singing in his mind. His head hits the console with a thunk, and he scrambles out from beneath and lays a hand on the time rotor. It has been a very long time since he's heard this song. It is the song of healing and comfort and love that she sang to him in the months following the Time War, before his beautiful pink and yellow girl had come and saved him. He marvels at her singing for the second time in two days; since Rose had gone, she'd remained silent, as if in mourning. Startled, he realizes that she must be singing to Dex.

"Why?" he asks her, gazing at the time rotor reverently. "I don't understand."

She ignores him. He considers taking offense, but finds it difficult. He is enraptured by her song, and he is relieved (overjoyed) to hear her again. His old girl singing! She really is beautiful. He settles into the jump seat and props his feet onto the console, content to push aside his confusion and listen.


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor shakes himself awake. Strange to have fallen asleep on the jump seat, he muses. Sleep cycles are rare for Time Lords, and the Doctor often held them off as long as he could in an effort to avoid the nightmares that had plagued him since the Time War. He stands and stretches. This sleep had been deep and dreamless, and he feels better than he has in a long time.

Making his way to the galley, he imagines that he can smell banana pancakes. He smiles. Rose made the best banana pancakes. He is surprised when the memory doesn't sting as sharply as he expects.

Dex is standing on tiptoe in front of the stove, tiny hands wrapped expertly around the handle of a pan, hair damp, presumably from a shower. Sure enough, he is flipping a pancake. Not my imagination, then, thinks the Doctor, leaning against the doorway to watch.

"I put cinnamon in the batter. Hope you don't mind," says Dex, sliding the pancake onto a plate and reaching for the batter.

Don't mind what, thinks the Doctor. The cinnamon, or the fact that you're more at home in my TARDIS than I am? He smiles. He's not annoyed; it's almost funny, actually, this little human who has managed to turn his TARDIS domestic in a matter of hours. "I don't mind," he says, leaning on the counter near the stove to watch Dex. "They smell good."

Dex smiles. "'Course they do; it's Mum's recipe." He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, concentrating on flipping the pancake. "You like bananas, yeah?" he asks, twitching his head toward the cluster that sat waiting on the countertop.

The Doctor laughs. Dex looks up at him in confusion. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," he replies, shaking his head, eyes sparkling. "Bananas are good."

Dex nods and returns to his pancakes. He works in silence while the Doctor watches. Dex is attentive and methodical, waiting for the batter to bubble just so before he deftly flips the pancake. Each one is fluffy and golden. The Doctor is impressed. The one time he'd tried to make pancakes for Rose, he'd burned them, and they'd ended up going for chips instead.

Dex hands him a plate and sits at the kitchen table, digging in with gusto. The Doctor realizes that he has no idea how long it had been since Dex had eaten. He hadn't thought to ask. He picks guiltily at his food and wonders how he will manage this responsibility that the universe has thrust upon him.

Dex pushes back his chair and drops his plate in the sink. "Stop feeling guilty and eat your pancakes," he says, nudging the Doctor on the shoulder. "I can take care of myself."

The Doctor looks up at Dex and smiles. "I can see that," he says, raising an eyebrow at the little boy.

Dex raises an eyebrow right back. "Don't act bothered," he says, sliding around the table and plopping down across from the Doctor. "I just cooked you breakfast."

Dex has him there; the pancakes are fantastic. The Doctor finishes his plate while Dex watches. "What species are you, anyway?" he asks as he slides the Doctor's plate into the sink with his own. "I mean, obviously you aren't human."

The Doctor decides not bother asking how Dex had worked that out. "I'm a Time Lord," he says as Dex settles back into his position across the table.

Dex wrinkles his nose, obviously unimpressed. "Really? Sounds a bit pretentious," he says, eyeing the Doctor carefully.

The Doctor laughs. He'd always thought the same thing. "Yeah, I suppose it does."

" So what's different about you?" Dex asks. "I mean, aside from the obvious."

"And what is the obvious?" asks the Doctor, leaning forward on the table. He is eager to hear Dex's answer.

"You're much more intelligent than humans, for starters," says Dex, folding his hands on the table, "and your civilization is much older." Dex pauses, shaking his hair out of his eyes. He isn't sure how to phrase this next bit. "And, you must be, I dunno, telepathic or something, too."

"Oh?" says the Doctor lightly. "How do you figure that?" Dex shouldn't know that. The Doctor reaches out to Dex with his consciousness. Again, he finds nothing out of place, just a normal (extraordinary) human mind.

Dex looks at him seriously with big green eyes. "It was just a guess," he says, scratching his neck. "You acted surprised that I could hear the TARDIS, like humans shouldn't normally be able to do that." He shrugs. "You hear her in your mind, and humans aren't telepathic. Just makes sense, I suppose."

The Doctor makes a conscious effort not to look impressed.

"Why does she sing to me?" Dex suddenly asks.

"I don't know," the Doctor answers honestly. There are lots of things about his old girl that he doesn't understand, her affection for this little human boy being one of them. She has remained stubbornly silent on the matter. He can only assume that she wants Dex to hear her, for whatever reason, and has the ability to make it happen.

Dex shrugs, not the least bit put out by his lack of an answer. "I don't mind," he says seriously. "She's beautiful." The TARDIS hums happily, and the Doctor suspects that flattery could be a motivation for Dex's increased telepathic reception.

Dex stifles a yawn, and the Doctor realizes that it's been just over three hours since he'd carried Dex to bed. Not enough sleep for a human, especially not a child, he thinks. "Come on," he says, standing. "Bed time for humans." He cringes at the sheer domesticity of the statement and vows never to say it again.

Dex shakes his head. "I'm fine. Don't sleep much, me."

But the Doctor can see the shadows under his eyes and the droop of his eyelids. He is about to insist when he remembers the song of the TARDIS. He looks closely at Dex. There is a hard edge of fear in Dex's eyes, carefully concealed, but the Doctor knows what to look for. He sees that Dex has been fighting sleep, desperate to stay awake. Nightmares, he thinks, feeling a stab of pity and the same fierce desire to comfort and protect that he'd felt earlier in the evening.

"Alright," he says easily, seeing relief flood Dex's features. "But lets go somewhere more comfortable."

Dex shrugs agreeably and follows the Doctor out of the galley. The Doctor leads him to the study, which is conveniently located to their left. Today, it is warm and cozy, all wood paneling with fluffy beige couches spread around a small fireplace.

"Do you sleep?" Dex asks as he folds himself into the love seat across from the Doctor.

They continue this way for a long while, Dex asking questions and the Doctor answering. Dex wants to know all about Time Lord biology, so the Doctor explains to him about his two hearts and respiratory bypass system, impressed with Dex's background knowledge of human biology and his ability to understand the differences between the two. When the Doctor tells Dex that he is over 900 years old, Dex's eyes bug out and he breathes, "no way!" which launches an enthusiastic discussion on the differences of Time Lord mitosis and their excess of telomerase.

The days pass quickly, and the Doctor finds that having a child on the TARDIS is not nearly as much trouble as he'd anticipated. Dex, for the most part, looks after himself. He is enthusiastic about everything, always asking intelligent questions and demanding "proper" explanations. The Doctor finds himself explaining the inner workings of the TARDIS in intimate detail, surprised that Dex wants to learn and impressed when he understands. They spend their evenings in the study; some nights, the Doctor tells Dex stories of his adventures, and others, Dex asks him to explain inconsistencies that he has noticed with "human science." The Doctor is careful not to tell Dex too much - he can't drop a seven year old on Earth with enough information to change the course of human history. They discuss the mystery of dark matter and the ridiculousness of sting theory, and Dex wants to know all about what really happened at Roswell.

One night, Dex turns his big green eyes to the Doctor and asks seriously, "Is this really all you do? Travel the universe to see new things, occasionally saving somebody along the way?"

"Oi!" says the Doctor, wondering why the reproach of a seven year old should sting so badly. "What's wrong with that?"

Dex's face breaks out into a huge grin. "Nothing," he replies, eyes shining. "I think it's brilliant!"

The Doctor smiles back at Dex, relieved at his approval. Something warm and happy and whole unfurls in his chest. Contentment, he realizes, basking in the unfamiliar comfort as it washes over him. He hasn't felt this at peace since Canary Wharf.

The memory is like a slap in the face. He'd sat in this same chair in this same study, reveling in the same fuzzy happiness with the same gappy grin on his face, the night before he'd lost her. He's made the same mistake he always makes, over and over. He doesn't have long before the TARDIS will be repaired and Dex will go home. The Doctor is surprised at how much the thought hurts. Stupid, he thinks.

Dex sees the war in the Doctor's eyes. It bothers him. He slides off his chair and crosses the study to sit with the Doctor on the couch. The Doctor doesn't acknowledge him.

"Where do you go?" Dex asks, nudging the Doctor gently with his shoulder.

The Doctor looks over to see Dex peering up at him with concerned eyes. He hadn't even noticed him move. "Hmm?"

Dex leans on the arm of the couch and pulls his knees up. "You just... weren't here anymore," he says, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "You okay?"

It is much too late to avoid getting attached, thinks the Doctor. He can't help but smile at Dex. "Yeah." He is surprised at how rough his voice sounds.

Dex can see that the Doctor doesn't want to talk about whatever it was that had been bothering him. "What do you think about the K-Pg boundary?" he asks.

They spend the rest of the evening discussing geology.


	7. Chapter 7

Dex bounces into the console room. He knows that the Doctor is tinkering with the TARDIS; Dex can hear the occasional hum of the sonic screwdriver coming from... somewhere. He peers around the console and sees that a panel of grating has been slid aside. Dex pokes his head into the dark hole in the floor. The Doctor is buried deep beneath the grating; Dex can barely make out the soles of trainers amid wires and casing and boxes and god-knows-what-else. He smiles. It looks like fun. "What are you doing?"

From deep within the console comes a brief electric sizzling, a hiss, and a loud clatter. Dex resists the urge to laugh. The trainers disappear. There is more clattering, closer this time, and Dex sits up. A grease-stained hand appears at the edge of the hole, followed by a shock of brown hair as the Doctor pokes his head from beneath the grating. He is in complete disarray, rumpled and smudged, hair standing comically, white shirtsleeves rolled past his forearms. And, Dex notices as he stifles the giggle that had been forcing its way up his throat, he looks a bit put out.

The Doctor sits on his knees and rests his arms on the edge of the grating. He cocks a smudged eyebrow at Dex.

"Was just wondering what you were doing," Dex mumbles, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes and swinging his feet off the edge of the hole.

"Oh, I'm just using the sonic to reconnect damaged wires," the Doctor says, leaning forward on his elbows. "Should be an easy job, really. The TARDIS is making it difficult." He shoots a glare at the time rotor.

"Can I help?" Dex asks eagerly, face lighting up. He loves it when the Doctor lets him use the sonic.

The Doctor smiles at the hopeful little face peering down at him. He can't help it; Dex's enthusiasm is infectious, and TARDIS work is so much more fun with someone to share it with. He'd had Jack for a while, but this was just... different. He is going to miss Dex.

"Well," he drawls, "normally I'd let you, but the TARDIS is in a snit." He rolls his eyes, and Dex's face falls. The Doctor holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers, which Dex now sees are streaked with bright red burns, some of which are beginning to blister. "It's a bit dangerous."

Dex nods. He doesn't fancy blistered fingers, either. "What's wrong with her?" he asks.

"Dunno, really," the Doctor says, shrugging. He plops onto the grating across from Dex, facing the console. "It's been a long time since I've had to be that far into the wiring." Dex sees the Doctor's expression shift almost imperceptibly, and the resulting grin is too wide. "You can go exploring, if you want," he says cheerfully, smile not quite meeting his eyes.

Dex has the distinct feeling that he is being shoved off, but the opportunity to explore the TARDIS alone is far too tempting to pass up. "Really?" he asks, eyebrows raised, big green eyes shining.

The Doctor's grin solidifies. Really, it's difficult to stay upset with Dex around. He swings his foot and taps the toe of Dex's trainer with his own. "Yup!" he says, popping the "p" enthusiastically.

Dex scrambles to his feet as the Doctor slides back into his hole. Dex is nearly to the door of the console room when he pauses and turns. "Doctor?"

"Yeah?" says the Doctor, popping his head out from beneath the grating.

"You're gonna be okay, right?" Dex's concerned eyes flicker to the Doctor's hands, indicating the burns on his fingers.

The Doctor nearly laughs, shaking his head. It's been a long time since he's had anyone to be concerned about singed fingers. He'd not paid enough attention to notice if Martha cared or not, and Donna had preferred to spend vortex days lounging by the pool. It's nice, really.

"'Course!" He smiles and wiggles his fingers. "Accelerated mitosis," he says, winking at Dex. "They'll be good as new in a day or so."

Dex smiles back at him. He's not sure why he even asked, really. "Good," he says, turning to go.

The Doctor suddenly remembers that he is nearly finished with the TARDIS repairs. She'd be able to leave the vortex soon, and he would have to take Dex home. The Doctor realizes abruptly that he doesn't want Dex to go. "Dex?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll be finished here in an hour or so..." he trails off, feeling a bit stupid. Dex is just a kid.

Dex cracks a grin. "It'll be time for lunch," he says, knowing that the Doctor would forget to eat unless he reminded him. "I'll meet you in the galley."

"Lunch, yeah," the Doctor mutters, watching Dex go. "Sounds good." He retreats beneath the console, cursing as a wayward box falls on his head.

I'm not lost, Dex thinks as he wanders through the halls of the TARDIS. The galley is just to his left (he hopes). He rounds the corner and realizes that he must be deeper in the TARDIS than he's ever been; this corridor looks unfamiliar. He still has five minutes before he needs meet the Doctor, and he's not worried, not really. There is only one door on this hallway, at the very end. It is brown and unremarkable, and, Dex notices as he comes closer, cracked open. He peeks inside.

It is a bedroom. It is obvious that whoever had lived here was long gone; the air is thick and musty with disuse. Dex had never considered anyone but the Doctor living in the TARDIS. He wonders why, now. He knows the Doctor is lonely, though he'd never admit it. Dex wonders if this is why the Doctor is so sad; sometimes, when his face goes flat and empty and his eyes look haunted, Dex can feel it rolling off of him in great waves, the sadness. Dex always tries to distract him when that happens. He knows what it feels like. He does his best not to dwell on the past, but sometimes, the memories overwhelm him and he can't breathe through the guilt and the grief and the regret. Nobody should ever feel that way, Dex thinks.

Dex is about to shut the door when he notices just how lived-in the room looks. There are a few clothes scattered on the floor and the bed is unmade. An open tube of mascara sits on the dresser-top. It's not a disaster, but it certainly appears that whoever lived here had left in a hurry, intending to come back.

Dex nearly trips over a shoe before he notices that he has crossed into the room. Her room, he thinks, eyeing the cream and pink color scheme. He wonders who she was and why the TARDIS kept her bedroom if she'd never returned. He is considering how best to broach the subject with the Doctor (and not look like he'd gone snooping) when he senses a presence at the door.

Dex turns, trying to think of a reason for being here and finding none. The Doctor is standing at the doorway. He looks very old and very sad and (oh, thinks Dex as the Doctor's eyes meet his) very, very angry.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice deceptively soft, eyes burning.

Dex swallows. "I'm sorry," he stammers, scratching his neck. "The door was open, and I didn't mean to..."

The anger drains from the Doctor's eyes. Now, he just looks tired and old and broken. He sits heavily on her bed, forehead in hands, fingers curled into his hair. "Get out," he says quietly, without malice, voice dangerously close to breaking.

The Doctor hears Dex move toward the door. He doesn't understand why the TARDIS opened it; after the Racnoss, he'd spent days here, mourning her, until finally he'd picked himself up, straightened his tie, and sealed her door permanently. He hadn't seen it since. Now, it floods him, the pain of losing her, pulling him under and swallowing him whole. He is cold and black and empty without her, even after all this time. He feels Dex still beside him.

"Dex," he pleads, wanting nothing more than to be alone with the memory of her.

Dex doesn't move. The Doctor raises his head, fighting desperately to keep his emotions in check. Dex is standing by the dresser, near the door, with his back to the room. He is holding a picture frame.

The Doctor rises. He doesn't want to throw Dex out by force, but needs must. He slows when he notices that Dex's hands are trembling.

"What are you doing?" he asks, confused by Dex's preoccupation with the picture. It was of Rose and Jackie, the Christmas he'd regenerated. They were both flashing huge smiles at the camera, laughing at the sight of him in a red paper crown. He remembers. He'd taken the picture.

Dex ignores him. "Mum," he whispers, gripping the picture frame tightly.

The Doctor freezes.


	8. Chapter 8

"What?" The word comes out in a choked whisper. The Doctor could have sworn that he'd just heard Dex say 'Mum.'

"That's my mum," says Dex, eyes never leaving the picture that he is clutching in a death-grip. His voice is louder now, full of disbelief and something harder that the Doctor fails to identify.

"She just looks like your mum," he says desperately, pleading for Dex to accept the only plausible explanation. He is at his whit's end.

Dex ignores him. "Why've you got a picture of Mum?" he asks, quieter now, brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes still haven't left the photo.

Rassilon, of all of the things for him to deal with. He is tired, so tired. "Dex, that's not your Mum," he says softly, running his hands through his hair. "It can't be. That's-" his voice breaks. After all this time, he can't even bring himself to say her name.

Dex snaps his head up and locks his gaze onto the Doctor, eyes glittering with suspicion. "That's Rose Marion Tyler," he snarls vehemently, "daughter of Peter and Jacqueline Tyler, Vitex heiress and Defender of the Earth. My mother."

The world stills. Dex's words slam into him with a force that makes his hearts twist painfully. He cannot breathe. He is suddenly cold, so cold, icy stab of adrenaline burning through his body. He opens his mouth to deny it, desperate to cling to science and reason and knowledge of the universe, to fall back on his hardened coping mechanism of, "impossible!" but he can't. He knows. The truth unfolds in his hearts along with a glow of something warm and long forgotten. He is suddenly consumed with it, with this little face that is glaring at him, a glare he's been on the receiving end of far too many times. The truth is written subtly in Dex's features, in the angle of his cheekbones and the curve of his nose and the shape of his eyes. Rose, his Rose, her genetic code, standing right here in front of him, had been for days. Hope, he thinks. Oh, he likes hope, nearly laughs with it, at the absurdity and madness and sheer brilliance of it. Wait. Here, standing here. His brain catches up with his hearts, and he realizes, suddenly and sharply, that he doesn't understand.

"How- how are you here?" he stammers. He is vaguely aware that he is leaning heavily against the wall. He doesn't remember moving.

"Why do you have a picture of my mum?" Dex demands, jaw set, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

The Doctor is having a hard time forming a coherent thought. The hope consumes him, morphs into something more like desperation, and he needs to know. Dex flinches, and the Doctor realizes that he has unconsciously moved toward him, seeking the skin-to-skin contact that would allow him to see for himself. The harsh guilt of what he'd attempted to do shakes him to the core, shocking him into sense, and he sits down hard on the floor, back against her bed. He reigns himself in, walling up his emotions as he'd done so many times before. He doesn't quite succeed - oh, the hope will not fade - but he manages to speak, slow and strangled . "Dex, I need you to explain-"

"M'not telling you anything until you explain why you've got a photo of my mum!" Dex is shouting now, voice thin and high, arms still crossed.

Oh, it hurts, that little face glaring at him with anger and suspicion, but Dex's eyes speak even deeper. They are large and wet, full of confusion and hurt and fear, and it nearly kills him.

"Dex," he says softly, "let me show you."

Dex must see something in the Doctor's eyes, because he seems to wilt as all the fight drains out of him. He looks very small and very scared. He steps tentatively toward the Doctor and settles beside him on the floor. "Will it hurt?" he asks, eyes wide with fear.

No, he wants to say, almost says, but it is a lie. He cannot, will not lie to Dex. He will feel everything that the Doctor had felt, and it will hurt. "Yes," he says simply.

Dex is silent for a long moment, searching the Doctor's face. He closes his eyes tightly, and when he opens them, there is so much trust there that the Doctor can hardly breathe.

"Okay."

The Doctor marvels at the bravery of this little boy, so like her. He feels the burden of Dex's trust, heavier than all of the weight of the universe, and has a fierce desire to earn it.

The Doctor gently rests his fingertips of Dex's temples and closes his eyes. He does not fully enter Dex's mind, only making enough contact to allow his memories to play over the surface, like a video. He accesses everything that he's kept locked away for years. He shows Dex snippets of Rose's life on the TARDIS: Rose's smile as they stepped through the doors onto a new planet, late nights spent laughing in the study, Rose dragging him to visit Jackie, shopping on an asteroid bazaar, running for their lives from a horde of angry Daalurians, backs pressed against the doors of the TARDIS, laughing breathlessly with relief at another narrow escape. He digs deeper, steeling himself as he allows Dex to see his memories of the day he lost her. He shows him the ghosts and Torchwood, the void ship and Cybermen and Pete Tyler. Dex gasps when the Daleks exit the void ship, and the Doctor feels a stab of guilt at being unable to shield Dex from his own fear. He concentrates on walling off what he feels now, reliving the memories for the first time since he was last in this room. He shows Dex the void stuff and the magna-clamps, Jackie crossing over with Pete, Rose coming back. When the breach seals shut, he lets his fingers slip gently from Dex's temples, trying to spare him the worst of the emotional aftermath.

Dex stares at him with big, sad eyes. "You loved her." It isn't a question.

The Doctor inhales sharply. "Yeah." He sighs heavily and looks away from Dex. "Yeah, I did."

He is startled to feel strong little arms wrap around him. Dex has crawled into his lap and is gripping him tightly. He lays his cheek on the Doctor's shoulder. "M'sorry," he whispers, never loosening his grip.

The Doctor doesn't question it; his hands automatically come to rest on Dex's back. He is struck by just how right this feels, the most natural thing in the universe. They sit in silence for a long while, each lost in his own thoughts. The Doctor's previous urgency is gone; he knows Dex needs this - doesn't allow himself to think that maybe he needs it, too.

After a long while, he notices Dex is shivering. "Dex?"

Dex doesn't answer; his whole body shakes, and his face is pressed against the Doctor's suit. The Doctor feels a dampness on his shoulder and realizes suddenly, to his horror, that Dex is crying, hot tears trailing down his red cheeks.

Oh, Rassilon. What had he been thinking, exposing a seven year old to emotions that he himself couldn't handle? He runs a hand up and down Dex's back, attempting to still the sobs that are wracking his tiny body. "I'm so sorry," he whispers.

"I miss her," Dex murmurs into the Doctor's jacket. He has not stopped crying.

Oh. Well, that's an easy fix. "Dex, I'll find her." Oh, he will. Nothing in the universe can stop him now. "I promise."

He slams onto dark pavement. His palms sting as his skin is scraped off; he feels the rolling nausea in the pit of his stomach and the pounding in his head. Before he can wonder at the sudden initiation of telepathic contact, he is on his feet, prickle of fear shooting down his spine.

He recognizes this street, he realizes, cold knot of dread settling deep in his chest. Chiswick, London. He was here eight days ago, in the middle of the Dalek invasion. He remembers the glare of that abandoned car's lights on the pavement. He feels another shiver of fear that is not his own, and he realizes with horror that this is Dex's memory.

His hearts stop when Dex nearly runs headlong into the Dalek. He can still vaguely feel Dex wrapped in his arms, reminds himself that they are in the TARDIS. He forces himself to breathe deeply. Dex is here. Everything turns out fine. He tightens his grip on Dex, anyway.

Dex is just like his mother, cheeky and brave and brilliant. The Doctor cannot help but feel a swell of pride when Dex swallows his fear and faces the Dalek with an air of collected indifference.

He feels Dex brace himself to run and dread gets the better of him again. The Doctor hasn't noticed the alleyway. He barely has time for relief before it ends abruptly with a brick wall. He feels his heart pound in his chest, cold bricks press roughly against his back. He gasps when the cool prickle of energy shimmers across his skin, and- No. Not here, oh, please not here.

Dex's relief at seeing his mother is swamped by the slow dawn of horror as the Doctor watches Rose step into the firing range of the Dalek. Dex had said his mother was dead, he remembers abruptly. Terror seizes his hearts. He does not want to see, does not need to watch to know how this ends.

It unfolds slowly.

Dex speaks.

He cannot stop it.

Rose turns.

Oh, Rassilon, please.

The Dalek fires.

No. No, no, no, no! Rose!

He wants to fall to the ground, to run to her, to cradle her in his arms, to die, anything, oh, anything but this. Anything but see her body lit with the sickening glow of Dalek weaponry, anything but watch her collapse to the pavement, anything but stare at her lifeless form crumpled unnaturally on the ground. He is locked in place by Dex's paralytic shock, cannot move or speak or breathe until Dex allows it.

The acrid smell coats his nostrils, and he is aware his own bile rising in his throat. He finds no relief as Dex heaves onto the pavement.

Finally, finally, Dex goes to her, and oh, he gets to touch her again. Dex curls into her, almost exactly as he would have done, and he shatters. Dex's grief is drowned by his own, the weight of their separation, of all the things left unsaid, all of the longing and the anguish and the desperation crashes down on him with a tangible force that leaves him reeling in its wake. Oh, he was a fool. For so long he told himself it'd have been easier if she'd died, that he would have known, that he could make peace with it, have closure. There will be no peace now. He aches to reach up and run his fingers along her jaw, to brush his lips across her forehead as he once had, but he is denied even this. He feels the burn of lactic acid in his muscles and realizes that he'd engaged his respiratory bypass on the TARDIS long before he first saw her here. He will be sore tomorrow. He doesn't care.

He feels Dex's deep stab of regret mingle with his own. Oh, Rose. He'd never finished that sentence. He has no trouble saying now, but she will never know. He curses the vicious irony of the the universe. He is shuddering with sobs now, wether Dex's or his own, he cannot say. English is too feeble, so he murmurs to her in Gallifreyan, all the things he never said, would have said. He pledges his hearts to her, for then and now and forever, makes unbreakable vows that are meaningless. He tells her of Gallifrey, tells her of his fears and shortcomings and failures, and oh, those are many. He recounts each moment when he should have wrapped her in his arms and snogged her senseless, every time he nearly told her she was beautiful, every missed opportunity, each almost-confession, every chance never taken, each stolen glance, every regret he will ever have. He tells her his name.

He is startled by the grating voices of Daleks in the distance. Dex pulls out a familiar yellow button, Dimension Cannon, he remembers. Of course, the reality bomb would have bled through the Medusa Cascade. Pete's World runs ahead of this one. The walls of the universe were collapsing, had allowed her to slip through the cracks. He wonders if any weaknesses remain, and decides he doesn't care.

He hears the familiar grind of the TARDIS materialization sequence and curses the universe and everything in it. He'd been right there, not a quarter of a mile away, just a short sprint to her. He feels his body being ripped apart, and welcomes the pain.


	9. Chapter 9

The wooden frame of the bed digs into his back, and he remembers that he is on the TARDIS. He can feel the accelerated thump of Dex's heart pounding frantically in his little chest. The burn in his muscles is nearly unbearable now, and he remembers to breathe. His sudden respirations break the silence, fast and shuddery and loud.

Dex shifts and looks up him, eyes damp and swollen, eyelashes glistening. His face is red and tear streaked, full of guilt. "I'm sorry." The words come out surprisingly steady.

The Doctor finds that he can break further. He hadn't thought it possible. He cups his palm around Dex's jawline and runs his thumb over his -her- cheekbone. He looks Dex in the eyes. "Listen to me," he says, voice rough and low. "It is not your fault. None of it was ever, ever your fault."

Dex's eyes swim with tears. He sniffs and turns away. "It is," he whispers. "I wasn't s'posed to be there."

The Doctor is silent. Dex needs to get it out, and there is nothing to do but wait.

Slowly, haltingly, Dex tells him of Mum's strange behavior, her disappearances and his suspicions. He tells him of the fire and the overheard conversation and Gran's denial. He explains how he broke into Mum's office, planning to go through her files or hack her computer for information. Finally, he tells the Doctor how he found the yellow button on Mum's desk and pressed it out of curiosity.

Dex lapses into silence. They sit like that for a long while. The Doctor watches Dex out of the corner of his eye. He is so like her, he thinks. That's exactly what she would have done. Brave, and stubborn, and loyal, and reckless, and oh, so brilliant. His hearts clinch with every breath. It hurts beyond anything he's ever known, losing her.

"I'll never see Gran or Grandad or Tony again, will I?" Dex asks softly, absently picking at the rubber of his trainers.

The Doctor opens his arms. "Come here." Dex does not hesitate; he leans into the Doctor's embrace. The Doctor rests his cheek on Dex's head. It feels good, the support.

"Can I stay with you?" Dex asks after a long silence.

The Doctor suddenly realizes that he wants this more than anything. The guilt of it nearly chokes him. He cannot keep Dex, would not survive the inevitable loss of him, will not allow himself to destroy Dex like everything else he touches. Oh, this will kill him.

"Dex," he starts, sighing heavily and bracing himself. It is going to hurt.

Dex cuts him off. "What else would you do with me?"

Before he can come up with an answer to that - there is none- Dex continues, "What's gonna happen to you?" His voice cracks and his eyes are full of concern.

Rassilon, he cannot do this. He pulls back and grips Dex's shoulders with both hands, looking him in the eye. "You and I," he says, voice low and rough and deadly serious, "are going to be very, very careful." Oh, he is tempting the universe, knows he is. Dex stares at him with luminous green eyes and nods solemnly, and the Doctor feels something cold and hard building in his hearts. Resolve. He leans his forehead on Dex's, pulling him close. "I will not lose you," he whispers fiercely. It is a threat and a prayer and a promise, redemption and absolution and a second chance. He dares the universe to try.

Dex seems to understand. "Come on," he says after a long moment. He stands and tugs on the Doctor's hand. "We need tea."

The Doctor nearly laughs. It is not perfect, might never be again, but he has Dex, and that's a start. The grief is still there, circling the edge of his consciousness, threatening to devour him as soon as his guard is down. He knows he will spend many nights in this room, consumed by it, knows he will never make peace with his past, will never overcome the guilt and regret, will always miss her, deeply and terribly and fiercely, but he will go on, and maybe, one day - if he's very, very lucky- he will be okay. He stands and allows Dex to lead him from the room.


End file.
